deepundergroundpoetry.com
Tasting a Passed Love
What was once pressed together
in intimate detail is now no more.
What was once beautiful and whole
is now without form or taste, or so I thought.
I bow my head and touch the tip of my tongue
to the cold ash of his remains, tasting the
salty bitterness of his cock as
it was when we were young.
in intimate detail is now no more.
What was once beautiful and whole
is now without form or taste, or so I thought.
I bow my head and touch the tip of my tongue
to the cold ash of his remains, tasting the
salty bitterness of his cock as
it was when we were young.
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